


Baker Street's Papa Bear

by ValorousLeader



Series: Q and Hogan [1]
Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965), Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Gen, I take myself so seriously, and yet it's absolute crack, business not as usual for the consulting detective and his blogger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26599048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValorousLeader/pseuds/ValorousLeader
Summary: A strange visitor leaves an unconscious and bloody Gestapo officer in the middle of 221B Baker Street.
Series: Q and Hogan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009815
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Baker Street's Papa Bear

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Hogan's Heroes (or the universe that my mysterious visitor comes from)
> 
> This story alternates between being really serious in style and being absolute crack.

Sherlock sat in a chair, steepling his fingers and scowling. “Bored. There are no cases; nothing to do.”

John sat in his chair, working on a blog article. Sherlock had been saying something similar for the past three hours. “Try making tea. That should sufficiently challenge your intellect.”

Sherlock ignored him and kept moaning. “Bored. Bored-”

“I think I can help with that.”

The two men lurched out of their chairs and faced the new presence. He was normal-looking enough, wearing a suit, but his smile was chaotic and unpleasant.

“Who are you?” Sherlock challenged. “Did Mycroft send you?”

“No. I’m just an observer. I create situations and see how the humans react.” Both men noticed the way he talked about humans as if he wasn’t one. “I’m especially eager to see how you two, the great Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, handle this.”

“What do you mean-” John started but the man was gone.

In his place, sprawled face-first on the ground was a WWII Nazi Gestapo officer.

Sherlock and John stared, John to shocked to enjoy Sherlock being equally speechless. Recent times had forced him to always be ready for the unexpected, but this… this was too much.

Sherlock regained control of his mouth first, to properly display his genius. “Uhh…”

John probably would have stood there, staring for several more minutes, if he hadn’t noticed two red-brown splotches on the man’s coat. The doctor in him forced him to move.

“Sherlock, he’s been shot. Twice.”

They walked over to the Gestapo officer, shock moving them slowly despite ethe man’s injuries. John reached for the non-bloody shoulder, and pulled, rolling the as-of-yet unmoving Naxi onto his back. John’s eyes widened.

“He’s… young.”

“Your observation skills astound me.” Apparently a chance for sarcasm was enough to shake Sherlock out of his stupor.

“Well, what can you tell?”

Sherlock glanced down at the Nazi’s hand. “He used a gun frequently and he recently handled explosives.”

John was in the middle of thinking up a scathing retort when the wounded man opened his eyes. At first, they were barely slits, but one look at the two men hovering around him and they widened in panic. He scooted back and pushed himself to his feet.

 **“What’s going on?”** he demanded in German. **“Who are you? Where am I?”**

John opened his mouth but Sherlock stopped him. **“We’ll answer that if you tell us who you are.”**

The stranger puffed up his chest. **“I am Major Hoganmeyer of the SS. Who you are, Englanders?”**

John frowned. “Awfully young to be a major.”

“The cruel and bloodthirsty got promoted quickly.”

Hoganmeyer looked from John to Sherlock, confused. **“Answer! Who are you? Speak German.”**

**“I’m Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend, former military doctor John Watson.”**

**“RAF?”** Hoganmeyer reached for his belt but there was nothing there.

Eyebrow raised, John shook his head. **“Army.”**

 **“Army?”** Hoganmeyer’s eyes narrowed. **“What’s the British army doin…?”** He started to sway and tipped forward.

John lunged forward and caught him, then half-dragged, half-carried him to the couch. Hoganmeyer sagged into the cushions, coughing slightly.

After finding medical supplies, John prodded Hoganmeyer into a sitting position, then peeled his bloodstained coat and shirts off, revealing the two bullet holes, surrounded by hundreds of scars, new and old. John and Sherlock looked at each other.

 **“How did you get shot?”** Sherlock asked, purposely ignoring the scars.

Hoganmeyer coughed for a moment. **“A group of underground insurgents had blown up a ball-bearing plant and the Gestapo was ordered to pursue. We exchanged shots.”** It was a short military summary, with just the facts.

**“Why’d you handle explosives?”**

Hoganmeyer’s eyes widened slightly, but to Sherlock’s surprise, he didn’t ask how he knew. **“One of the insurgents dropped an explosive and I picked it up. Don’t know what happened to it, or how I ended up wherever this is, with two Englanders.”**

 **“You’re in London.** ” Sherlock believed in being brutally blunt.

 **“London!”** Hoganmeyer shot to his feet, but his eyes rolled up and he hit the floor, unconscious.

John sighed. “Really, Sherlock?”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “You feel sympathy for him, a Nazi?”

“He’s hurt.”

“He’s a Nazi.”

Head shaking, John pulled Hoganmeyer back onto the couch. He started to clean the wounds, noting with relief that both wounds were clean through. Sherlock picked up the bloody Gestapo coat and rifled through the pockets, ignoring his friend’s pointed glances.

In one of the innner pockets, he found and pulled out a chain with a metal tag on it. “Dog tags.”

In spite of himself, John was curious. “What does it say?”

Sherlock flipped the tag so he could see the script. “Hogan, Robert E. 0876707. B. David Hogan. 631 Windsor Lane. Indianapolis, IN.”

That was unexpected.

“What?” John blinked stupidly. “Is he a double agent or a spy?”

“He’d be a very dumb one, carrying his American dog tags with him.”

Hoganmeyer - no, Hogan - stirred and woke, his lips forming a silent hiss of pain. **“What happened?”**

Sherlock smirked. “None of that, Robert Hogan.”

All the confusion and pain on Hogan’s face froze, then his eyes narrowed, cold and calculating. “Explain.”

All German was gone from his vioce, replaced by a completely American accent. He stood, way too imposing for being shirtless, with two bloody holes in his torsoe.

For an answer, Sherlock held up the dog tags. “I think you should be the one to explain, Major Hoganmeyer of the SS.”

Hogan smiled apologetically but his eyes remained cautious. “Can’t be too careful. There’re a lot of risks in my line of work. I thought-”

“Your work as a spy?”

“Sometimes, but that’s not my main business. Anyway, I thought you two were a trap set back Hochstetter.”

“Hochstetter?”

“Oh, he’s a Gestapo major. He’s obsessed with me. Thinks I’m the leader of an Allied espionage and extraction unit, which,” Hogan grinned, as he pulled on the bloody Gestapo coat, “is of course ridiculous.”

At this point, John decided to join the conversation. “How does he even know who you are?”

The American’s smile turned rueful. “Oh, that’s ‘cause I’m a POW. Ol’ Hochstetter’s conducted several of my interrogations himself.”

At the word ‘interrogations’, he glanced briefly but tellingly at a long scar on his arm.

The two others heard and registered his mention of interrogations, but their thoughts were hung up on something he’d said earlier.

“A POW?” John repeated. “You run an extraction and espionage unit… In Nazi Germany… as a POW?”

“Well, I don’t just run it. I go out on my fair share of operations.” He jumped topics blatantly. “What did you think of my Gestapo Major? I was going for Hochstetter but I’m not the one who does impression generally.”

“I couldn’t say,” Sherlock murmured. “You’re not actually a major, correct?”

“No, I’m not.”

“I knew it!” Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s smugness.

“I’m a colonel.”

John was starting to think this Hogan was enjoying himself a little too much. He certainly was grinning awfully widely. But then his whole demeanor snapped suddenly and flawlessly from snarky jokester to stony officer.

“You said we’re in London. How did I get here? I didn’t call for extraction. Where are my men?” The officer’s voice dropped for just a second in the end.

“Well, you got here through some form of-”

“We don’t know,” John interrupted. “This guy showed up, said he wanted to see how we react, then you appeared. There wasn’t anyone with you.”

“Where is this ‘guy’?”

“He disappeared.”

Hogan’s black eyebrows pulled together, his forehead clouded over. “If I’m not back before roll-call… Kinch’ll be able to excuse me only so long.”

“Kinch?”

He smiled fondly. “Sergeabt Kinchloe, my second-in-command. While I’m gone, he takes care of all the men and runs the operation.” His eyes widened with pity. “Oh, he’ll get an ulcer from Newkirk alone, without Carter and LeBeau.”

“Others in your command?” Sherlock asked.

“My support staff.”

“What do they do?”

“Between my top four men, I’ve got a radio-man, a pickpocket/safe-cracker, a demolitions expert, a Franch chef, four German speakers, three verbal Nazi imitators, two visual Nazi imitators, and anything I ask of them.” Hogan’s face was practically glowing with pride.

“I also have an outside man who leaves camp whenever I need a distraction or to keep the prisoner numbers the same, a medic, and a couple of expert tailors. The rest of the men help with distractions, the no-escape policy, and anything else I need.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the colonel. “Why are you telling us this?”

Hogan laughed dangerously, the very sound a threat. “Any spies who’ve found out about our operation either end up in London under lock-and-key, or in Gestapo headquarters under lock-and-key. We’ve even gotten a few committed to mental institutions. If the Krauts learn anything I just told you, I’ll know who told them. And the more details I give ‘em, the more rope the spies have to hang themselves.”

He was clearly not a man to be trifled with. John didn’t doubt that some spies had died because of what they knew.

“That was beautiful, absolutely chilling. The Allies must be very glad you’re on their side.”

The strange man in a suit was back, his smile still freaky but somehow less threatening to the British men after seeing Hogan’s.

“I must say, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson, you did better than I thought you would. You didn’t kill on sight. And Colonel Hogan…”

He trailed off, Hogan’s glare fully focused on him. If looks could kill, the man who put the American colonel in 221B Baker Street would have been erased from space and time.

“Put me back. Now.”

The man sighed. “You’re no fun.”

He snapped his fingers and Hogan disappeared. Turning to Sherlock and John, he smirked. “That was awesome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a starship captain to annoy.”

**Author's Note:**

> So who was the mysterious visitor?


End file.
